


and by a sleep to say we end the heartache

by Istezada



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Advice for the Intrepid Journalist, Don't copy to another site, Fourth Wall? What Fourth Wall?, From a promt: The worst thing is that they aren’t even nightmares - they’re memories., Gen, but fucked up, i guess?, meta?, the relations between celestials and infernals is fucked up, understandably so!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Istezada/pseuds/Istezada
Summary: Do the demons remember Heaven? Would anyone admit it, if they did?





	and by a sleep to say we end the heartache

If you were to ask Heaven’s head office, somehow, if the Fallen remember their existences before the rebellion, they would not admit to “We don’t know”. It is not the head office’s position to be ignorant of anything. The Almighty knows all, obviously, and so Her servants and messengers and army must likewise. The official position is something akin to “Well, they must have forgotten. Who could remember that perfection and willingly choose to behave like _that_?” Angels, you understand, do not lie (that is, they do not speak falsehoods or untruths), but they may occasionally invent logical and reasonable answers for your own good. You should remember this, when making your inquiries.

If you were to ask most of the angels the same question, they would give you the same answer. Some of them—the gentler angels, the ones who excel in divine healing and comfort—will admit that they hope She took the memory of Heaven from the Fallen with their access to it. The angels, you see, remember. They remember Heaven. They remember the rebellion. They remember the cold fury of betrayal and the abomination of fighting their own brethren between atoms and across the parsecs. It took humanity thousands of years to measure things so small and large as were destroyed in that timeless (and before time) conflict. They remember the first celestial blood being spilled. They remember the losses for which they had no words, for which they had to invent words, and some of them—the ones who will find you, one by one and in the quiet after your official discussion is ended—will tell you that they wish the Fallen _could_ remember. Some of them, at least, with the fire of justice and wrath shining in their eyes, hope that their former kindred know what they have lost, and have not forgotten, and are unable to forget.

If you ask Aziraphale… well, his answer very much depends on when, over the course of the six millennia he spends on Earth, you manage to corner him into the conversation. Choose wisely, because Aziraphale certainly remembers, and will remember you, and you will not have the conversation a second time. He has a fairly unique perspective and opinion on the matter, having been away from Heaven for so long and being engaged in what is, officially, the longest one-on-one campaign against the evils of Hell on the records. He may admit what his head office will not. He may admit that he doesn’t know. He may stare at you with unexpected hurt (or anger, or amusement) writ large across his expressive face, straighten his tunic (or robes, or coat), and say “Yes, well. Rampant speculation doesn’t aid anyone. There are more useful ways to spend one’s time.” and politely, courteously, send you on your way. He may, if he is very drunk already, lean across the table and absolutely confirm that the Fallen have no memory of Heaven, that it is impossible that they remember, that no one who _could_ remember could be responsible for the horrors that he has seen inflicted upon the human race. (He may also admit, reluctantly, that the human race is quite capable of inflicting horrors upon itself without need of much demonic influence.) He may, if he is very drunk already, lean across the table and absolutely confirm that the Fallen _do_ remember, that he has recognized the righteous fury of his siblings still blazing in their eyes—at least, he is very sure about one Fallen, in particular. If he is very, very drunk (or very, very sober), you may not remember exactly how you ended up back in your room. You may not remember having had the conversation at all. You may not remember Aziraphale’s very existence.

If you were to ask Hell’s head office—if you were to somehow be granted safe access to and recess from that place—if the Fallen remember Heaven, it would certainly be one of the most harrowing and unique experiences of your life. Whether or not the Fallen remember before the revolution is irrelevant. The revolution is on-going and no one has time to discuss such frivolities. There are temptations to carry out, large and small. There are countless tiny indignities to inflict upon God’s little human project and myriad tragedies so vast that humanity, at large, dare not acknowledge them, lest they be swallowed by despair and wrath and laws that no one can or will keep in their entirety. (No one tells the humans, just as no one told the Hosts, that ignoring the tragedies of life, large and small, courts the engulfing quagmire of apathy. It is a very few who can face the hardships and injustices of their lives with grace and love and the Fallen vie among themselves, both to avoid and to ruin them.) Demons lie, however, and there is no known way of making them speak truth when it does not serve their purposes. You should remember this, when making your inquiries.

If you were to ask the Fallen, away from the scrutiny of their commanders, what they remember from before the revolution, most of the answers you will receive would be impossible to transcribe. The Fallen, by and large, have better (or worse) things to do than remember that which they have lost. They are sometimes, however, willing to discuss that which they hope to defile.

Curiously, if you ask Anthony J. Crowley, the Serpent of the Garden, if he remembers Heaven and his existence there and then, his answer is as uncertain as Aziraphale’s. Unlike his angelic foe (counterpart, foil, friend), however, Crowley is startlingly willing to have the same conversation, over and over, across the span of human history. He may tell you that he remembers nothing. He may tell you (wildly contradicting) stories of the Fall itself. He may tell you that he helped the Almighty hang the stars; he may even claim he knows how many there are (or were—he’s been denied access to the status records of the heavens for several thousands of years now). He may tell you that he was part of the lowest choir in Heaven and the revolution was as shocking (or viciously deserved) to him as to his former siblings. He may tell you that he questioned God, and Her intent, to Her face. He may tell you that he slipped over the Edge in the confusion, just to see what all the fuss was about. Demons, as you may remember, lie. He will never, ever speak of these things, seriously or not, when sober.

Crowley, at any rate, remembers. Crowley, at any rate, has learned to sleep. Sleep is one of two, and by far the more reliable, escapes he has found in six millennia. Crowley, at any rate, does not have nightmares. Nightmares, he has been told, happen during sleep. These are not nightmares. They are memories.

**Author's Note:**

> This is, without doubt, one of the odder things (stylistically speaking) I've ever written. Also, you can blame the title on Nimravidae. It was gonna be _something_ Hamlet and they insisted...
> 
> I'm also over [here](https://istezada.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


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